


Walk Me Home

by yespolkadot_kitty



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Broken Hearts, F/M, Fluff, London, Romantic Comedy, What am I doing, a lot of nonsense really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 13:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Charlotte is saved by a handsome stranger when an ex leaves her caught short at a wedding.Ten years later, he's still in her life and they're best friends. Until the day he's needed to save her again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I officially SUCK at writing blurbs for stories. Here is a romcom about broken hearts and second chances.

_ Ten years ago _

JESS: I said, I’ll handle it.

CHARLOTTE: Like you handled it the time I ended up covered in half eaten dog food?

JESS: We promised never to speak of that again.

JESS: I’m handling it.

Charlotte Lowe slid her phone away as she stood awkwardly outside the church hall in a pretty little village outside London.

Of course she had agreed to come to an old friend’s wedding. They’d had good fun in school.

Just a shame that her now very much  _ ex _ boyfriend had RSVPd on her behalf - and asked to bring someone else.

The bare faced cheek of it still stung inside, like an old wound that had never quite healed, a broken bone that still ached, dully, in the cold.

It had been two months since Josh had dumped her by text, and Charlotte  _ could do this. _

Her best friend Jess - sisters from another mister, they called each other - had promised to help out by sending someone “dirty hot” to act as her date.

And so, believing in her best friend, she’d RSVPd to the bride too. With a plus one.

Fliss had been  _ really _ good about it, made room for them on a table Charlotte was pretty sure would be right at the back and get served last. But that was  _ fine. _ As long as she could stand to be near Josh and his new beau, not throw up, and  _ not _ smack him in the head with anything nearby that wasn’t tied down.

The “dirty-hot” stand in hadn’t arrived, and the clock was ticking.

Charlotte took a deep breath, metaphorically pulled up her big girl panties, and opened the doors to the church.

People milled around, not yet seated for the arrival of the bride. The church looked stunning - fat pink roses tied in bunches at the end of each row of pews. The old wooden floor gleamed under her feet, and the stained glass skylight beamed down on the place where Fliss and her groom would stand and say their forever vows.

“Charlie.”

Every muscle in her body tensed. She turned, and there he was. Blond, beautiful Josh in a navy suit that fitted him like a glove.

Well, here she was. Alone at a wedding, standing opposite her ex, who was very much not alone. A stunning redhead had her arm hooked through his. 

Wasn’t she just living the dream?

“Candice,” Josh began. “This is Charlie.”

Stunning-enough-to-be-a-model Candice reached out a hand, her smile sweet and warm. “Lovely to meet you.”

Seriously? Charlotte made herself smile. Josh did  _ not _ get to win just because his new girlfriend was super nice  _ and _ super pretty. This was unfair in a massive, the-universe-has-shit-on-me way.

She took Candice’s hand to show that she didn’t. Give. A. Shit who Josh was with now.

“How do you and Josh know each other?” Candice asked.

At that moment, Charlotte felt her stomach bottom out. Three years.Three years of Josh and he hadn’t even  _ mentioned _ her to this girl? She felt the slow burn of rage simmering in her belly, her eyes going hot. “Actually-”

“Mutual friends,” Josh said smoothly. “Haven’t seen each other for a while.” His expression screamed  _ no need to make a scene. _ “You’ve come stag?” he asked, the question innocent enough, but his tone said something else. 

_ It’s embarrassing that you came alone.Go home. _

He could stick his embarrassment up his ass. Preferably so far that it came out of his nose.

“Josh,” Charlotte began, her temper at critical mass, about to boil over. “You, of all people-”

“Darling. Sorry I’m late.”

Charlotte started as a warm arm slid around her waist. Her stomach clenched, but this time in disbelief.

Oh yeah. Jess had pulled it out of the bag. This guy was  _ dirty-hot. _

Honey-brown stubble hugged the curve of his jaw like a lover. She cast her gaze up past a poet’s mouth, straight nose, and soulful eyes the colour of the Pacific Ocean at dawn. His antique gold hair, curling at the edges, framed a face that could have graced any number of magazine covers. 

Charlotte could have listened to his voice all day. Low, seductive, James Bond but cooler. And a little bit naughty.

His charcoal grey suit looked tailored, bespoke, the crisp white shirt beneath open at the neck, flirting with the triangle of skin and whorls of chest hair revealed.

“Hey,” she croaked out, surprised, and trying not to sound it.

“Friend of yours?” Bond asked, glancing at Josh. 

“No,” Charlotte said at the same time as Josh said “Yes.”

Candice looked between the three of them, confused. Charlotte didn’t blame her. Josh turned to say something to his date, right by her ear.

Bond took the opportunity to say, low enough so only she could hear, his breath tickling at her neck pleasantly, “I’m Tom. I really  _ am _ sorry I’m late. My phone was off, so I only got Jess’ message an hour ago.”

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said dumbly, still processing.

“I owed Jess a favour.”

That took some of the shine off it, but then, why should he have said anything different? They both knew he wasn’t here because she was supermodel-gorgeous, or ridiculously charming. They both knew he was a…. A what? A sort of chaste booty call? A last minute favour. 

And heck, Jess hadn’t made any promises other than  _ he’ll be dirty hot, and he’ll talk you up. _

“So, what are we talking about?” Tom asked the group as a whole. “If you’ve been monopolising my Lottie, I’m sure she’s had you laughing ten to the dozen.”

_ Lottie? _

Charlotte forced herself to keep her mouth shut. Jess  _ had _ said he’d talk her up. Sometimes it was wiser to say nothing.

“ _ Your _ Lottie?” Josh asked, askance, as, at the same time, Candice said, “we’ve only just met.”

Charlotte squeezed Tom’s forearm. It was an excellent forearm, one of a guy who clearly put a bit of effort into his body. “Maybe we should find our seats before everyone else arrives?”

“Of course, darling. Great to meet you,” he shot off at Josh and Candice as he let Charlotte lead him away.

They had sat down four pew rows back from the front before Charlotte let herself let go of the breath she’d been holding. She glanced up at Tom. He was still there; still gorgeous. He smelled like bergamot and citrus, calming, classy. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. If I may say, he seems rather… a tool.”

She felt a smile tug at her mouth. Her stomach was settling. “Thanks, I mean it. You don’t even know me, attending the wedding of two people you don’t know _ either _ sucks as an activity for your last night in the UK, and you still came.”

“I should warn you, I have high expectations for the wine, food and cake.”

“So do I.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment as the other guests filtered in. The string quartet in the corner of the large hall struck up something light and classical.

“You must owe Jess a  _ massive _ favour.” When he didn’t respond to that, she added, “So, tell me something about you. Do you have a suit stashed in a nearby phone box, or do you wear it under your normal clothes?”

“Nice superhero reference,” he said, sounding impressed. 

“I’ve got supervillain ones, too, if they’re more suitable.”

His lips curved. He might’ve been handsome when serious, but he was devastating when he flashed that panty-dropping grin. “What would you like to know? How many people I’ve killed, or where I hide the bodies?”

“Funny.”

“I’ll remember not to quit my day job.”

“Which is? I’m sorry,” Charlotte added as she needlessly fiddled with the clasp on her bag, thinking that maybe a little G&T would be  _ great _ here, “Jess was light on the details. It’s hard to hear someone when they’re shoving you under a cold shower.”

The look in his eyes said he heard more than she was saying. “You didn’t want to come.”

“Not really.”

To his credit, Tom let it drop. “I’m a mature student. Art.”

“So you decided to take a break from your latest masterpiece by helping a pathetic dumpee,” Charlotte deadpanned.

“Hey,” he chided, his tone gentle. “It isn’t like that.”

“It’s really OK if it is.”

“And it really  _ isn’t. _ ”

She eyed him sceptically, but acting like a dog with a bone wasn’t her idea of a good time, so she let it drop. Just as she was about to speak again, to learn more about him the doors to the ceremony room opened, and an usher called everyone still standing to take their seats. Charlotte started to turn on instinct when Josh called her name from several rows behind.

“Ignore him,” Tom instructed.

“Ignore who?” she asked blithely, recovering.

“Nice.”

She didn’t  _ need _ this sexy stranger that Chrissy had sent, Charlotte thought as they shared a smile, but she was glad of his solid presence. They had never met, didn’t know each other, but he was  _ definitely _ dirty-hot, and he did make her feel at least thousands of dollars, if not the cool million.

It was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We catch up with Charlotte ten years later.

_ Present Day _

  
  


“Naked photo?”

Charlotte paused with her pen on the homemade “Tinder Bingo” card she balanced on her lap. “Yep.”

“Bio that begins: Once you get to know me…”

With her pen, Charlotte made a big X on her card. “Oh, yeah.”

Jess sighed. “It’s too easy. Can’t we try OK Cupid instead?”

“I don’t have a log in for that. If I did, it’s expired.”

Jess tutted. “You’re thirty-two, and you don’t even have dating app logins for insurance. OK, I think I’ve almost got a full house. Is he coming or isn’t he?”

Charlotte’s eyes strayed to the clock on her fitness tracker, trying to push down the slowly rising panic.

OK, so maybe it was no longer  _ slowly _ rising. Maybe it had already reached full on tsunami level.

“He’ll be here.”

“So you said a half hour ago.” Jess replaced the cap on her pen. “We’ve gotten as far as we can on Tinder Bingo. I - holy  _ shit. Tom _ is on Tinder?”

The pen fell out of Charlotte’s hands. “What now?” She tossed down her own smartphone and scooted over on the sofa to sit next to Jess.

Her friend scrolled across on the screen, and sure enough, one of her best friend’s handsome faces lit up on the dating app.

Jess snorted. “Like  _ he _ has to use Tinder to get laid.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Charlotte replied truthfully. She’d known Tom for ten years. Despite the fact he was so hot she could’ve cooked an egg on his face, they’d never gone  _ there. _

“Wonder what his profile says,” Jess said idly. “Let’s see….” She pouted. “It doesn’t say, secret successful artist to rival Banksy.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Because of course he would give that away on an anonymous app like Tinder.” But her curiosity had piqued. “What’s his username?”

“ _ A bard by any other name,” _ Jess laughed. “God, I’ve had enough. I did  _ not _ want to know, Thomas Hiddleston.” She set the phone down. “I propose alcohol.”

_ She had to use the word “propose.” _ Charlotte swallowed and followed Jess to the fridge. Her best friend slung open the door and poked her head inside, trolling for useful ingredients to make cocktails with. Charlotte didn’t think she’d find much to use.

“He’s stuck in traffic, maybe,” Charlotte allowed, worrying the engagement ring on her finger.

“Lottie.  _ No one  _ drives in London,” Jess said gently from inside the fridge. “White Russian? We could substitute the cream for creme fraiche? No, that’s not humane, is it?”

Half listening, Charlotte worried the engagement ring on her left hand. When your fiance called to “talk about your engagement,” was that good or bad?

How could it be bad? They were engaged, weren’t they? Had she or had she not planned an engagement party for tomorrow?

She very much  _ had. _

But how could it be good….?

Jess pulled a bottle from the fridge and a tub of ice cream from the freezer. “Coke floats. Not alcoholic, more’s the pity, but it’ll have to do.”

Charlotte went through the motions of getting glasses out of the cupboard for her friend. They had known each other so long now that she knew Jess’ game. Ever a good reader of people, Jess  _ knew _ that whatever Matt had to say, it sucked big donkey balls, and so she was doing the Lord’s work in keeping Charlotte occupied.

Just as Jess dumped a scoop of possibly-past-its-best vanilla ice cream into each glass of Coke, the doorbell buzzed.

_ He doesn’t have a key, _ Charlotte thought. What sort of woman didn’t give a key to the man she was going to marry?

She pressed the intercom, already knowing whose voice she’d hear.

“Babe, it’s me.” Matthew’s voice floated up, slightly tinny from the distortion of the speakers.

“Okay.” Depressing the button, she heard the metal door release from the open window. 

His footfalls echoed on the stairwell as she held the door of the flat open, and in a moment, he appeared, his pirate-long hair drawn back in a cue, leather jacket open in a concession to the warm May weather.

“Hey.” She lifted her face for his kiss, and he obliged.

Her heartbeat settled. Maybe he just wanted to see the guest list.

“Hey, babe. I - Oh, hey, Jess. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Jess turned to face him from the window. “Why?”

Matt shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I kinda wanted to talk to Charlie… alone.”

Jess made a face, immediately on edge.

Charlotte nodded to her. “It’s OK, Jess.”

Her friend scooped up one of the Coke floats. “I’ll go sit downstairs. I’ll be here if you need me,” she added, levelling a  _ look _ at Charlotte.

Matt watched Jess leave the flat and closed the door behind her. The noise of the lock clicking into place was suddenly very loud in the open plan living and dining area.

“Charlie…”

Folding her arms across her chest, Charlotte half-hugged herself, feeling like she’d need the support. “Just say it.”

He hesitated, curling his hands into fists in his nervous tell. Charlotte had spotted it on their second date, and he’d never deviated in the five years they’d been together. “How about some coffee?”

A cup would give her something to do with her hands. Ignoring the melting Coke float, Charlotte crossed the kitchen to her first child, her beloved Nespresso Machine. Programming it, she went through the motions by rote, nerves coiling like snakes in her stomach.

“Sugar?”

“Charlie-”

“Do you want sugar,” she ground out. He’d started this coffee nonsense, he could damned well finish it.

“Sure.”

She glanced over and briefly met his gaze. He was still doing the nervous tell thing. Dumping the sugar in the coffee, she handed him the cup. He took it, not looking at her. It was, somehow, the not looking that told Charlotte everything she needed to know.

“You want to call it off, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

He stood behind her, saying nothing very loudly. She could hear the sound of her life cracking clean in half as the jet black coffee spilled from the machine into her mug.

“Charlie…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this  _ before _ I started planning this engagement party?” she waved a hand, indicating the spread of food she’d prepared for the shindig tomorrow. “How long.”

Matt came to stand behind her, but she curled her arms around herself.

“How. Long.”

“I had to get it straight in my head…”

“Oh well,  _ good for you!” _ she shouted.

The coffee machine, in its death throes now, finally spat out the last few drops of caffeine.

“A month, I guess,” Matt said into the silence.

“A  _ month. _ You proposed to me less than a month ago.”

He dropped down on to the sofa, his face pale, drawn. “I thought once I did it, I’d feel different. Okay. You know.”

“It is  _ painfully _ clear that I don’t know,” Charlotte bit off. “Is there anything else you want?”

He shifted on the sofa, the coffee he’d asked for forgotten. “Well, if I could have the ring back, that’d be great. It’s still within the thirty day refund period.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte's friends think of ways to cheer her up, over cocktails.

“....So then, I had to get the tube to the hospital with him.” Charlotte stared down into her mojito as commuters sailed past through London’s trendy Saville Row. “I left him there to fend for himself. He might’ve been flirting with a nurse while I was in the bathroom.”

“Jesus.” Jess snorted, then covered her mouth. “Sorry. I mean, really. But I can’t believe you - you! Who could never throw to save her life, chucked your engagement ring at him and hit him dead in the eye!”

Charlotte put her head in her hands. 

“Was there a  _ lot _ of blood?” Jess wanted to know.

“You could look a tiny bit less gleeful.”

“I  _ really  _ couldn’t. I just want - fucking hell, Hiddleston, about time you got here!”

Charlotte looked up as Tom climbed the few steps on the platform their tables sat on. He held a tray bearing three fresh cocktails. 

“Sorry. Bar was busy.” He set one before Charlotte. “Blood on the Tracks for the lady.”

She peered at him through the gaps between her fingers.

He arched a brow. “The bartender thought it best for a broken heart.”

“Your usual Screaming Orgasm,” he said to Jess, without inflection. He had an irritatingly good poker face.

His own cocktail was an Old Fashioned - Tom’s usual. He only deviated for whiskey, neat. No rocks.

Charlotte slid the cocktail next to her mojito. “Thanks, Tom.”

He dropped into the chair opposite her and took her hand, linking their fingers. “I could kill him, you know.”

Jess elbowed him. “You could  _ not _ . You’d get that jacket dirty, and it probably cost as much as I make in a year.”

Tom ignored this jibe and looked straight into Charlotte’s eyes. “I could hire someone. I have the money. What else am I going to spend it on?”

“Hookers and champagne?” she asked weakly, because it was what she always said when he asked the money question.

His eyes darkened. “Darling, I don’t need to pay for sex.”

Despite the still very new ache in her chest, Charlotte smiled, unfazed. She was used to Tom in full-blast flirt mode. It had annoyed Matt no end, but it just tickled her. Matt had never needed to feel threatened; Tom flirted with her because they both knew it was harmless.

The ten years since they’d met had been good to him. Now thirty-three, he’d cut his hair back. It still fluffed, but the short back and sides had kept the curls to the top. He habitually wore waistcoats that accentuated his long, lean form and jeans that showed off his backside. No one knew his face, but his pseudonym,  _ The Bard,  _ was responsible for artwork based on Shakespeare’s plays, quotes interspersed with abstract shapes and colours that captured the essence of The Bard’s work without the need for narrative. 

Tom’s paintings regularly sold for six figures.

He was the new Banksy, and the fact he never attended his own shows only added to his notoriety and therefore his bankability.

“Power down, E L James,” Jess snarked to Tom. “We’ve got a broken heart to deal with, stat.”

Charlotte stirred the straw in her mojito. It was Friday, and around them, London had already started to wind down for the weekend. The sun might have been ready to take a bow, but the people of London were just getting started, ties being loosened, skirts being shortened, the volume turned  _ up _ on music in bars.

“You didn’t say how I should kill him, Lottie,” Tom added.

To this day he was the only one of her friends who got away with the nickname. She preferred Charlie, or thought she had until she’d heard  _ Lottie _ in his smooth, 007 accent.

“He asked for the ring back,” she said weakly. “So he could get a refund.”  _ That _ hurt as much as anything. That while Charlotte choked on the soundtrack of her own heart breaking, Matt had been calculating monetary gain in his head.

Tom was on his feet in a hot second. “I’ll kill him with my own hands.”

Jess tugged his elbow to get him to sit down again. “You can’t go in all guns blazing.”

“Watch me,” Tom muttered darkly.

Charlotte finished her mojito and immediately moved on to the cocktail Tom had delivered. “I love you both. But what I could really use is a distraction for tomorrow. I’ve texted everyone about the party, cancelled the venue - who did  _ not _ give me a refund, and fuck you Matt - but now all I have is my to-watch list on Netflix.”

“I’ll hang with you,” Jess said immediately. “I was going to the party anyway. We can watch  _ all _ the men hating shows. We can make a voodoo doll of putty and stick pins in his junk.”

“I’m  _ right  _ here,” Tom said mildly.

Charlotte reached over and patted his hand. “Not you, you have an honorary vagina.”

“Oh  _ that’s _ all right then,” Tom snarked, smiling. “You know….”

Jess stopped painstakingly making an origami swan from her black cocktail napkin. “Char, the third musketeer is making his idea face. You know nothing good comes from this.”

Charlotte perked up. “I’m open to ideas.”

“I couldn’t attend your party because I’m flying out tomorrow. But now there’s no party, not here, anyway. Why don’t you come to Vegas with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not abandoned my other fic, Bedside Manner. I'm just the Queen of starting more fics when I should be focusing on my existing ones.....


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte packs, and she and Tom travel to the airport in style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a Jaguar here because we all love Jaguar! Tom.

“What the  _ hell _ do I pack?” Charlotte asked the room in general, the next morning.

No one answered, because she was on her own.

If only she could Google “what to pack for a wedding in Vegas that you didn’t know you were attending because your best friend is taking you as his sympathy date.”

Even Debrett’s wouldn’t cover that.

Her suitcase lay open on the bed, a few paltry items sitting in its shell, mainly underwear.

For the wedding, she slipped in her best dress, a full-skirted, sunset-colours affair from Coast, that hugged her curves, the skirt floating out like a flower on the wind when she danced. She’d crammed the matching shoes into her case - best to make a good impression on strangers whose wedding you were crashing. 

She had even packed in a feather-light lacy camisole that would never see the light of day. But she might as well sleep in it.

Chucking in her favourite pair of Converse, a couple of t-shirt dresses and a hoodie, she called it good. Her current outfit of cut off shorts, sandals and her  _ Wonder Woman _ t shirt would be fine for the plane.

Waking up groggy from too many cocktails last night, she’d forced down two paracetamol and a pint of water along with her breakfast of crumpets and butter, then scrubbed her face whilst taking a quick, scalding hot shower.

Did she look like a woman who’d had her heart broken into shards that stuck out through her skin? Yeah. 

But was she going to Vegas with her best friend anyway?

_ Hell, yeah. _

TOM: Downstairs. You ready?

CHARLOTTE: One sec.

Shoving in a bag of toiletries - broken heart or not, she wasn’t attending a stranger’s wedding without mascara - she hurried downstairs and out of the communal door to her building to find a sleek, slick gun-mental grey Jaguar, quietly dominating in its hard beauty. The lines of the car seemed to blur into one another, so that it seemed crafted by nature’s will, rather than man. Charlotte regularly saw cars like this, living in London, but had never sat in one. 

Passersby glanced at her with undisguised interest as the driver got out, wearing a suit, but not a flat cap as she’d – naively? – expected. She eyed his suit, betting it cost more than the most expensive item of clothing she’d ever owned.

“Take your bag, miss?” He held out a hand.

“Oh. Er – yes please, thanks.” She passed him her suitcase, which looked pretty worn compared to his sharp suit. She kept her handbag slung over her shoulder.

The driver popped open the boot of the car and slid her suitcase inside. The interior was spotless, smelled new. He hurried round and opened the rear passenger door for her, and she got her first glimpse of Tom, who sat in the back of the car, looking like he owned it. 

Which, he probably did.

She thanked the driver and folded her legs inside the car. The seats were butter soft. “Wanted to make a scene, did we?” 

Tom grinned like a kid getting to experience a life size  _ Hot Wheels _ car. “It was either this or hookers and champagne.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I forgot you’re richer than God.”

Even before his art career took off, Tom had been lucky enough to be born into a wealthy family. His father and brother ran a wildly successful law practice that catered to the great and good of London. Tom’s father and his brother, Will, hoped in vain that he’d stop dabbling with paints and come into the family law firm, but Charlotte could never see Tom in court. Multi-talented, he succeeded at pretty much anything he set his mind to, but the corporate world would kill his natural charm and zest for life.

“Speaking of which….” Tom reached down into a bucket and pulled out a chilled mini bottle of Prosecco. “Hair of the dog?”

“How can you?”

He flashed the grin that more than likely had the women of London parting their legs. “Practice, darling.”

He poured her a glass, not spilling a drop even though the driver turned a corner whilst he did so, handed her the slim flute. “This is where we leave London, and that absolute  _ charlatan _ you called a fiance, behind.”

She  _ loved _ Tom because he used words like “charlatan” in every day conversation. “I don’t know what to say.”

He slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. “Say, thank you, Tom.”

“Thank you, Tom, for taking me to Las Vegas and allowing me to essentially crash someone’s wedding.”

“They  _ were _ fine with it. Promise. Have some more bubbles.”

*****

In the super-exclusive frequent flyers VIP Lounge at Heathrow, Charlotte sampled her ramen. It was fantastic – as well it should be for somewhere that catered to people with large amounts of money. 

“Are you  _ sure _ I can’t give you something for this?”

Tom scowled at her, putting his sandwich down and took a sip of his beer. “Behave yourself.”

She took another spoonful of ramen. The perfect saltiness of the miso soup sucked at her tongue. “Thank you. I mean it. You didn’t need to take me along as your pity date, although it is a nice call back to the day we met.”

He chucked into his pint, his blue eyes soft with fondness as he regarded her.

“I mean it. You could be with, I don't know, any number of supermodels right now. Like her.” She gestured in the direction of an American supermodel she recognised, whose legs seemed to last for literally miles. “I bet she’s not available on Tinder.”

“I wasn't aware you kept up with my exploits.”

“Jess and I were playing Tinder Bingo,” she said, because that explained it.

Tom shook his head, his fingers playing on the rim of his tall pint glass. “The sentence only makes sense because Jess’ name is in it.” A smile hovered on his lips. “You didn’t swipe right, though, did you?”

Charlotte laughed for the first time since Matt had shaken up her world and shattered it. “Why would I have?”

He blinked for a second, his cerulean gaze unreadable, and then his game face was back on. “Yeah. Of course.”

Something between them had changed, and Charlotte shifted uncomfortably on her seat. “Are you okay?”

Standing, he adjusted the edges of his navy blazer. It was a perfect foil to the pale blue button-down he wore underneath, open at the neck. The man knew how to dress casual-sexy, that much was true. Charlotte had always envied his style. “I’m fine. Just…. Bathroom. If you’d like another drink, feel free to order.”

Charlotte eyed him leaving for the restrooms, her brow furrowed. He was probably feeling hungover from yesterday - God only knew how long he and Jess had stayed out after they’d put Charlotte in an Uber home. Jess plus alcohol was a force to be reckoned with.

CHARLOTTE: Hey, was Tom ok when he left last night?

JESS: Sure. Why?

CHARLOTTE: He was OK in the car here, but he doesn’t seem himself.

JESS: What happens on Saville Row stays on Saville Row.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. As if that meant anything.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debrett's is a fancy etiquette guide for upper class social situations. I have only read small sections so I reference it here humourously.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flying first class is amazing! Unless, you hate flying.

Charlotte dozed for some of the flight. Tom woke her gently when the trolleys came past, ordering for her when he couldn’t stir her. For her first experience in first class, she would say later that it was  _ fucking fabulous. _

“Do you ever get bored of being rich?” she asked Tom as they cruised through the clouds.

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I  _ want _ to say I never take this for granted. But I’m only human. I’m just incredibly lucky that I’m rich enough to indulge my passion.”

“You’re the only person I know actually using their degree. You know that? Well, I guess I am, but I didn’t get a  _ degree _ as such.”

Tom accepted the beautifully plated beef wellington from the stewardess and passed it to Charlotte. “We’re in first class, about to eat rare beef, and you want to talk about work?”

Charlotte smiled her thanks at the stewardess and also accepted a glass of merlot. “Would you prefer to get wasted?” she asked sweetly.

“Always,” Tom smiled as the stewardess passed him the wine he’d asked for.

When she moved on, Charlotte nudged him. “I bet there’s something under your plate.”

Tom quirked a brow and felt under the china. Sure enough, he came up with a little piece of paper with a phone number on.

“Unbelievable,” Charlotte muttered.

“Jealous, darling?”

She rolled her eyes and took a bite of the beef. It was rich and succulent, the savoury flavours melting on her tongue.

Beside her, Tom tucked the slip of paper back under his plate and slowly lifted the glass of wine to his lips.

If she hadn’t been looking directly at him, she’d have missed the little tremble of his hand. And that he’d paled a little.

“Oh my God.”

He glanced at her. “Don’t make a big deal of it.”

“You’re  _ afraid  _ of flying. That’s why you’ve been drinking.”

He scoffed into his wine. “I’d rather be an alcoholic, thank you.”

She squeezed his knee under their tables. “There’s no shame. It is a huge metal box in the sky, after all.”

“Not helping,” he groused, looking down into his glass.

“What can I do?” she asked, genuinely concerned. She kept her hand on his thigh. His leg was solid and warm, and unbidden, she found herself wondering about the other women who’d touched him like this. 

Who’d shared experiences with him. Who’d touched other parts of him.

_ Stupid. _

She’d never cared a whit before, except to tell him she’d kill anyone who dared hurt him. They were friends; that was all. If something could once have happened between them, they’d long ago passed that stage.

Charlotte removed her hand and turned her attention to her meal.

“Tell me something,” Tom said quietly. “Anything. A bad joke. A secret. Just… talk to me.” He tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

His lashes were long against his high cheekbones. Had she ever noticed that before?

“Er… what do you call a can opener that is broken?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to find out,” Tom muttered.

“A can’t opener.”

“Oh, God.”

“You did ask,”” Charlotte reminded him gently. What was she supposed to  _ do? _ Tom was the fixer. The ray of light. The person who looked after everyone. She didn’t know, she realised miserably, how to look after  _ him. _

“Let’s have another,” he commanded softly.

Charlotte fiddled with her fork. “Um… okay, what’s better than Ted Danson?”

“I don’t know,” Tom groaned.

“Ted singing and Danson.”

He frowned. “I honestly don’t know what’s worse. Travel sickness or your jokes.” He swallowed and pressed a hand over his eyes. “Tell me something else.  _ Not _ a joke. A secret, maybe.”

_ I’m thinking inappropriate thoughts about you. _ Charlotte bit her lip, tried to conjure up some interest in the delicious food set out before her. But all she could think about was the feel of her best friend’s thigh under her palm, solid and warm.

“Erm…. I had a crush on my Science teacher in high school once.”

He scoffed. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Oh, sorry, Mr H, I wasn’t aware these were meant to be  _ x rated _ secrets.” Charlotte feigned offense. “Ok, well…. One time I tried to do a sexy striptease for Matt and the edge of my bra got caught on the chair I was using and I fell backwards with my legs in the air.”

Tom opened one eye. “Is that a secret?”

“It was, until just now.” She forked up a bite of velvet soft beef and chewed, not tasting it.

_ I’ve just broken up with the man I thought I was going to marry. I’m about thirty five thousand feet up in the sky. This is a super inconvenient time to realise that my best friend is, in fact, a very attractive man. _

To remind herself just how much she hated men right now, she glanced down at her bare ring finger.

To remind herself how much she did  _ not _ need to throw herself at her best friend right now. He’d humour her, let her down gently. And then she’d have to face him, mortified and full of shame, for the rest of her miserable life.

No. He was helping her get over a shitty breakup and the least she could do would be to keep her heartbroken and confused hands to herself. Tom deserved better than a stupid rebound fling, and so did she.

“Tom.”

He opened one sky-blue eye again. “Mmm.”

“When is a door not a jar? When it’s ajar.”

“I think you’ve cured me.” But he was smiling now. A little. And his cheeks were pink again. “I’m more afraid of your jokes than I am of flying, now.”

Much later, he drifted off to sleep while they were watching a tropey action film together. Charlotte glanced over at Tom's face, handsome in repose, and took a deep, calming breath. Her heart was cracked in two, her hormones in freefall, every part of her aching from the inside out. Little wonder she gravitated to the one man who'd been a constant in her life from the moment he'd rescued her at that awful wedding. This would pass, and in time, she'd laugh at herself and be glad she'd never said anything.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte & Tom arrive at the Las Vegas hotel, but there seems to be an issue with the reservations...

The cover of night had fallen by the time they took a car to the hotel. Charlotte followed Tom in a bit of a daze as they checked into The Palazzo, a gorgeous hotel where the rooms probably cost a small fortune. Tom could afford it easily, she knew that. But it wasn’t about the cost.

It was about him being somewhere gorgeous with her, when he could be with someone.. Special.

They approached the awe-inspiring row of reception staff. Behind the long desk, three arched enclaves built into the wall housed giant displays of fresh flowers. A ladder would be needed to change them. The opulence was astounding.

Signalled forward, Tom approached the clerk, neat as a pin in his black suit, and gave his details.

Charlotte struggled to keep her mouth closed as she turned a full circle, taking in the gleaming floor tiles and the perfectly sculpted ceiling roses. The entire space was a work of art.

“I beg your pardon,” Tom was saying as she tuned back in. “Would you check again. Please.”

There was a note of command under his smooth British accent. Something was wrong.

Charlotte slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Everything okay?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Whiskers were beginning to show under his skin and he looked  _ tired, _ shadows forming under his ocean blue eyes.

“I’m sure it’s fine, a computer error, that’s all.”

But the clerk’s brow furrowed as he typed something, moved his mouse, frowned. “I am sorry, Sir, but this is the only room booked. It is a suite, I trust that’s to your liking?”

Tom let out a long breath, and Charlotte knew he was holding on to his deeply ingrained politeness by a very thin thread. Travelling first class might have been a dream, but it was still exhausting,  _ especially _ as he was also afraid of flying.

“You’re quite sure?” he asked the clerk, that hint of steel again threaded through his tone.

“I’m afraid so, Sir. We’ve had a surplus of bookings lately as it’s wedding season.”

Tom glanced back at Charlotte, one eyebrow raised. She stifled a smile. The irony that  _ you _ were both here for a wedding had not been lost on your best friend.

“The suite will be fine,” Tom told the clerk. “Thank you. Would you be so kind as to have our bags delivered?”

The clerk passed Tom room keycards in beautiful gold-embossed slip covers. “Of course. I apologise for the error.”

_ Even the lifts here are ridiculous, _ Charlotte thought as Tom led her to the one that would convey them to their suite - suite! - and hopefully, somewhere to lie down. She craved sleep like she craved chocolate when she was on a diet.

A huge chandelier hung above their heads as Tom hit the button for the thirtieth floor. The lift moved seamlessly, the gentle music playing a backdrop to Charlotte’s increasing tiredness and jetlag.

They rode in companionable silence, Charlotte too tired to make conversation. Tom leaned against the mirror on the back wall of the lift, and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

She poked him in the chest.

“Ow, what?”

“Put your glasses on.”

He scowled at her, but dug in his breast pocket - why didn’t more men wear shirts with breast pockets these days? - and pulled out a pair of sleek, black framed glasses, probably designer ones. He shoved them on to his face. Instead of making him look geeky, they made him look like the hot English tutor who’d be fancied by all the girls in sixth form. It was  _ so _ unfair.

“Better?” he drawled, not bothering to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“Much,” she replied sweetly.

He rolled his eyes at her, just as blue behind the lenses.

The lift pinged gently, the doors parting to reveal yet another gorgeously tiled, immaculate floor, gleaming bannisters and 1930s light fittings.

The place was fit for a Princess. Not a caterer from Croydon. Charlotte followed Tom nervously as he strode towards the door of the suite they’d booked, sliding his keycard in easily. Like he belonged.

Of course he belonged. He’d booked it, hadn’t he?

Too tired to think any longer, Charlotte trailed in after Tom and let the door close with a quiet click.

“Wow,” she breathed.

The space was  _ enormous. _ One end of the room was covered in huge picture windows looking out on to Las Vegas. The other end was dominated by the biggest bed Charlotte had ever seen, the coverlet turned down enticingly, the mountain of pillows and embroidered cushions stacked against the intricate wrought-iron headboard. It was a bed straight out of a plush bodice-ripper. A bed made for romance.

In between, a well appointed seating area big enough for four people sat opposite the windows, the chesterfields inviting and plush. The coffee table in the middle of the chairs held a wicker hamper full of little treats and a bottle of fizz. _This is luxury._

A chaise rested at the foot of the massive bed, blood red, to match the curtains framing the giant windows.

Tom moved to sit on the chaise. “This is unfortunate, but I’ll sleep on one of the sofas over there.”

Charlotte stalked over to the neat seating area and frowned. “You will not. You’ll hardly fit. They’re beautiful, but you’ll sleep terribly.” She gestured to the bed on the other side of the sprawling suite. “That bed is easily big enough for  _ three _ people. At  _ least _ . It’s got its own postcode.”

Tom mumbled out a tired laugh.

“We can put up a wall of pillows if it makes you feel better.”

He shifted. “I’m just trying to be….” he moved his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable. “Proper.”

Charlotte laughed, crossed the soft carpet, leaning up to kiss his now-stubbly cheek. He was  _ very _ thoughtful and sweet. “It’s not 1800 any more, Tom, I’m sure two besties can share a mattress without the papers being informed. Especially in a bed this large. I’ve slept side by side with Jess a  _ ton  _ of times. We’ve somehow managed to keep our hands off each other.”

He grumbled something that sounded like  _ that’s completely different. _

She frowned, stepping back. “No, it isn’t.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, hundreds of unsaid words littering the space between their bodies. Charlotte’s heart thudded, hard.

“Charlotte, I-”

A knock on the door jerked them apart, and Tom swore under his breath. A bellhop with an elegantly curved luggage trolley arrived. Tom tipped him after he deposited their bags, then closed the door, and silence reigned again.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” Charlotte murmured, too exhausted to read into his strange behaviour. 

_ Things will be clearer in the morning. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a huge sucker for the AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED trope.


End file.
